Not As it Seems
by Moriarty-Mastermind
Summary: John and Sherlock have a mystery on their hands. When John gets kidnapped, the kidnapper, supposedly the new leader of Moriarty's web, taunts them and commits crimes and games in a process that echoes Moriarty. While solving their cases, they hope to find out who the new leader is.
1. Five Feet Two Inches

_Hello, and welcome to my first ever chapters long story. This story is set after series two. It's a sort of alternative to the 3rd series. Since I got the idea before the 3rd series came out. This story will involve some mature content, so I rated it as M. In this first chapter there won't be anything sexual and for the first beginning chapters there won't be but it will happen at some point. I've planned out this story almost completely, so there shouldn't be long times between chapters. However, reviews really do lead me on._

_And I'll stop delaying now, here it is._

* * *

It had taken a surprisingly short amount of time for John and Sherlock to return to their normal routine. After a well rounded explanation from Sherlock and John's swearing as well as a few punches thrown here and there it seemed as though their relationship was almost mended. In about a month the newspapers appeared to be bored with the scandal and they stopped posting stories about "The Man Who Survived the Fall". Mycroft informed Sherlock that Moriarty's web seemed to have been overall disassembled and without any type of mastermind to pull them all together everything had fallen apart and now organized crime was forming in small gangs like it is supposed to be, not under one leader.

Overall things were going well, and Sherlock and John were happy. As well was Scotland Yard and The British Government.

"The killer is short, probably about 5 '2", and female, as the impressions on the carpet and the gashes in the victims throat would imply. The likeliness of the killer being young is rather high though just as well they could be a grown women and it seems as though the victim knew his killer. He let her in with no hesitation, there are no signs of a struggle or defensive wounds on the mans hands and yet he shows no signs of being incapacitated while she slashed his throat, that means that he was completely caught off guard. The killer is left handed as well, rather then cutting the left carotid she went for the right. Once he was down she stood up and left him bleeding on the floor as he tried to cover his throat."

Sherlock took a deep breath and looked towards Lestrade, John smiled beside him obviously still impressed by his brilliant deductions even after all they went through. After Lestrade was done writing in his notepad he spoke,

"Alright, so we're looking for a female, probably younger in age, about 5' 2", and left handed?" Lestrade looked up at Sherlock.

"She also knew him so it would be optimal to look into his history and see if he knows or knew anyone with that description. Contact me if you find any prints on the weapon." Sherlock turned around and started to walk away with John on his tail, "We're done here, that's all I can give you." While they rushed away a few cries of 'Sherlock!' were heard and then a disgruntled sigh.

John finally spoke once then hailed a cab and got inside, "Is that really all you have?" Sherlock stayed silent, "Is that really, properly, all you have about the case?" No response. "Sherlock?"

"Yes, John. That is really, properly, all I have about the case now will you shut up."

John stayed silent and turned to look out the window, running over the crime scene in his head. John did his routine look and told Lestrade that the man had died from a single long angled slash to the right carotid artery, John said that the person who slashed the throat probably had done this before judging on the precision in which it was done.

Sherlock had asked what else had been retrieved from the crime scene and whether or not they had a weapon. There was a scalpel which was presumably the weapon and Sherlock had immediately pointed out that it was the killers and not the victims. Lestrade had written everything down and then Sherlock had went on to make the rest of his deductions.

"So is there anything interesting in this case?" John asked, "Are you going to continue working on it or are you going to let Greg continue on with the case?"

Sherlock turns his head to John, "Overall, this seems like a typically normal case. A girl, probably young, had a grudge against a man and killed him."

John shook his head, "But it is strange isn't it? I told you Sherlock, and you agreed with me. This looks really professional and well done...Like the person has done it before."

Sherlock looked back out the window, "That's exactly what the girl wants you to think. She's probably a typical 20 something year old girl trying to create the façade of a professional serial killer in order to cover the fact that it was simply a personal crime. This is given away because the victim knew the killer. I came to the conclusion that she probably didn't even use gloves...If the scalpel we found has prints then I'm not getting involved. If it doesn't, I will."

John nodded and turned back towards the window to look at Sherlock's bored expression. Yet again, it seems as though he can't be entertained. It was getting harder and harder to do so lately...After Moriarty, Sherlock couldn't find any cases or killers that were really up to his par. None of them were willing to play the game. Of course, Sherlock is happy Moriarty is gone, but John sometimes can't help but think that the consulting detective misses the game.

The cab stopped at 221B and Sherlock flipped open the cab door and ran to the front of their flat, yet again flipping open that door (not bothering to close it) and skipping up the stairs to 221B . Patiently, John got out of the cab and handed the cabby his fee. He made it to the open door, went inside and closed behind him and sauntered up the stairs of 221B.

The soldier sat in his chair and opened his blog- he looked at his latest posts. "The Six Mongolians" "The Veiled Tenant" "Boscombe Valley Mystery"...He almost considered stop posting about their cases after the Moriarty incident, but he had come to the conclusion that writing everything down really does help him and it manages to provide them a lot of clients. They manage to make a sufficient amount of money from especially wealthy clients, Sherlock often declines the money, but John had worked up the habit of taking up the offers...They need to pay the rent after all.

* * *

The next few days in the flat past uneventfully. John went back and forth from St. Barts occasionally working as a Medical Doctor when he's bored (he's becoming more like Sherlock then he thinks). The results came back from Lestrade and it turned out that Sherlock was right, there were prints on the scalpel.

They were able to trace the prints back to a women matching Sherlock's description 5' 2" , left handed, and only 19 years old. She had a grudge against the victim for telling her parents about her drug problems. She had a record and was easily able to be traced. She didn't admit to killing the victim and claims she had been framed, but with the means, motive, and absolute evidence she was easily convicted.

Sherlock was currently, probably, burning down the flat- but John decided to ignore that in order to go to his...What would he call it? Work? No. When he works at St. Barts it is more of a hobby...He would call it...Volunteering. That is essentially what it is. He is volunteering to do things at the hospital- but he's also getting paid. He shook his head quickly. It doesn't matter, as long as he is helping people and doing something not just letting himself marinate in that flat of his.

The cab he was in stopped and he paid the fee. He's wasting so much money. They really should take the tube more, in fact- Why doesn't he take the tube more? He thought about it and then realized it's because Sherlock never takes the tube. He supposes since he's almost always helping Sherlock with cases these days he has gotten used to ignoring public transportation.

John was just about to approach the doors to his job when his entire world went dark.

* * *

"Why hello Dr. Watson!." The voice was rough and obviously belonged to a man. John started to open his eyes...however right as he did an overwhelming grogginess took him over as his head lolled, he grimaced and tried to grab his head only to find that his hands were tied to a chair, as well as his legs. He struggled against his binds, "Now, don't do that Dr. Watson you're going to get rope burns, my boss doesn't want you to get hurt yet." After the army doctor was able to get himself to see he straight, he looked up at what seemed to be his kidnapper.

The man was tall and well built, he had dark blue eyes that were cold and empty. The man was standing over John and looking down at him, he had a military crew cut of graying hair. He was probably about 50 something years old but obviously in shape for his age.

"What do you want?" The words came out of John as a sort of straining mumble. He must have been drugged with something. Everything around him was blurry and he had a tunnel vision towards his kidnapper as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

The kidnapper leveled him with a stare, "What do I want? I want to do my job." As John's eyes starting focusing better and his vision was no longer blurred...He could see he was in a large vacant lot- how original. There was a chair in front of him as well as a table, with what looked to be- knives? The kidnapper went over to the table and lightly picked up a butcher knife. "Usually, this is the part where I start cutting you apart...but my boss just insists on keeping you healthy." Twisting the sharp silver in his hands he sighed, "It really is a shame. I know you're a soldier, it would have been interesting to see when you break." He quickly hit the knife to the steel table and an echo sounded throughout the lot, "But I can't. At least not yet."

John had been through this before. Really. He had been kidnapped way too much in his life, _really_, he didn't even get kidnapped in Afghanistan and when he comes to London he gets first kidnapped by a Chinese Smuggling Ring and then he is kidnapped by A Criminal Mastermind. Both of those were caused by Moriarty, but now that he's gone? **_REALLY_**? He didn't expect to be kidnapped any time soon.

"Look. I know you probably want me to ask who your boss is...And then you'll go one to say- 'He has many connections. He's a ghost pulling all the strings!' Or something a long the lines of that. I've been through this before and I've watched telly." His voice had finally gone back to it's original tone and was no longer mumbling. He had become worse then Sherlock with his running mouth- for all he knows this person could really want to kill him. But he wasn't taking this anymore. He breathed in deeply, "Alright, you know who Sherlock Holmes is? That's why you've kidnapped me?"

The kidnapper squinted, "You're just done with everything aren't you?"

"Yeah. Yes- I frankly am."

The man shook his head and almost laughed, "Well, boss did tell me about you. Just as boss told me about Sherlock Holmes- This is about Sherlock Holmes too, but that's not why you've been kidnapped."

"Then why, pray tell, have I been kidnapped?" John rolled his head up to meet the kidnapper's eyes.

"It's because of Moriarty."

John eyes quickly widened. "What?"

"Moriarty. It's all because of Moriarty."

"What do you mean Moriarty? Moriarty's dead. His whole organization is gone...He took a gun and shot himself straight through the hea- ah" a needle breached his skin and John looked as the kidnapper put pressure to the plunger and a clear liquid seeped into his skin.

After the man ripped the needle out he set it down on the stainless steal table.

"Now we don't what to ruin the mystery do we Dr. Watson?"

* * *

_And there's the first chapter :) I know the whole 'John gets kidnapped' is very common in our fanfiction world, but trust me all the rest of the story is pretty much original content. __The title is "Not As it Seems" remember._

_ I probably won't be commenting on the next chapters, unless there is something I would like to address specifically. REVIEWS REALLY HELP ME CONTINUE. So please, please, please tell me what you think._

_Thank you _

_-Moriarty-Mastermind_


	2. CCTV

Sherlock was bored. Very bored. John had been gone for such a long time, probably taking care of patients and doing surgeries and flirting with Sarah- ugh. When will he learn the women will never again be attracted to him when Sherlock is still around.

He was pacing the flat anxiously with the phone to his ear, finally Lestrade picked up, "Do you have a case? Anything?" The voice on the other end of the phone didn't sound amused and in fact sounded tired and irriated,

"Always getting straight to the point- Sherlock you've called me three times this past hour. No, I don't have a case for you. I've sent you all my cold cases and I can't send you anymore. You know I almost got fired after you pulled that whole "faking your death" act. If I continue to let you consult on cases it has to be at a reasonable rate...You can't just always expect me to let you in on everything." The DI was exasperated.

"Lestrade, I know you are currently working on a case. Five weeks running, not solved yet...Are you sure you don't need my assistance?"

The sigh on the other line could be heard from miles away.

"No Sherlock." The line went dead.

Sherlock looked at the phone and after glaring at it for over ten seconds through it at the wall with a aggravated yell. John should be back by now. How many people could possibly need help from him at the hospital.

No, in fact, how many people could John treat before he got bored. The answer is not many.

Walking over the wall he through his phone at he bent down and picked up the cellular. He had gotten rid of the Blackberry a while ago as well as the IPhone in substitute he got a Nokia...Or more accurately John had gotten him a Nokia. The phone was virtually indestructable which allowed him to throw it at walls, objects, and people. The detective let his fingers fly across the keyboard,

_Bored. Come back to the flat at once. __SH_

**SEND**

* * *

"Oh, it looks like your little boyfriend is texting you." The man laughed to himself and in a mock Sherlock voice said, "Bored. Come back to the flat at once!"

John glared at the man. He came to the conclusion after speaking for a while that the man wouldn't give him any information, instead it seemed like it was a lost cause, the doctor was continuously mocked every time he spoke and there was no reason to continue talking now...it had already been what John thought to be several hours. Not including the amount of time that he was unconscious.

"Please don't look at me like that Dr. Watson. It's cute, he likes you back. You don't need to be ashamed of a crush, is it because he's a man? Maybe." John didn't waver, "What's wrong? Are you afraid he won't notice you?"

John wavered.

"You are, aren't you? Is it because he left for three years?" The army doctor failed to keep a straight face yet again, "It is, isn't it? And he failed too. I told you this was about Moriarty. Not all of Moriarty's organization is dead, in fact my boss brought it back more powerful then ever before." John couldn't take the drolled out cliché suspense anymore,

"Who is your boss! For godssake you keep talking about him. I thought he was Moriarty but you've told me he's not- then again though, you do have me tied up to a chair, so I wouldn't put it pass you to lie to me." John sighed, "You haven't even told me your name, or any name. I'm obviously going to be here for a while...What should I call you?" The man smiled and leaned back on the metal table,

"I guess you should call me something...hm. How about- David? I like the name David. You can call me that." David cheekily smiled.

"Yeah sure, David."

John turned his head away from David and silently berated himself. Really? Did you think he would actually give you his name? At least he tried. Who knows, maybe David is a name related to him somehow. Someway he could figure out who this man is when Sherlock gets him out of here.

Every detail helps, even if the detail is affected by a variable.

John heard a loud buzzing again that reverberated against the metal table.

David picked up the phone and smiled,

"Well Dr. Watson, you don't need to worry about Sherlock not knowing you've been taken. He'll find out soon. "

David turned the phone to John, the bright light showed a new text from Sherlock

_Respond in five minutes or I'm coming to the hospital SH_

* * *

This was getting tedious. Sherlock had just finished texting John and was drumming his fingers against the coffee table. Lining the old sword scratch from when he was attacked, it was almost nostalgic.

Almost.

Recently Sherlock had noticed that almost all his entertainment had come from John. Everything. Not even cases really interested him anymore, because of how interesting John is. After coming back, things had been in a sort of limbo. It wasn't really the same as before...although they had stepped back into a routine- there was still something missing. He wasn't entirely sure what it was, because everything was the same. He was treated the same. He acted the same. It was all so unrealistic.

He glanced at his phone. It had only been one minute. However, when had Sherlock ever followed what he was told. Even if he told himself.

Getting up from his chair he swiped his mobile from the table and headed into the main room. Gathering his coat and scarf, he trotted downstairs and headed out of 221B. Maybe he could discover a case with John. He used to do it when he was younger. He would simply walk around London and look for anything suspicious, there are vague memories of him follow drug-lords, thieves and murderers. All types of criminals are around London and they weren't very hard to find.

He hailed a cab,

"St. Bart's."

"Yeh, sure mate."

He looked out of the window of the cab and nearly sighed to himself. Moriarty was the ultimate match, he was the most difficult thing Sherlock had faced but now everything was rather boring. The spider had been crushed, and his web had been dusted. What was the exterminator to do?

He watched as the other cars passed by, and soon enough they were at St. Bart's. As he got out of the cab he started to walk towards the hospital.

"Hey- mate. Ya need to give me the money."

Sherlock turned and ruffled through his pockets, shoving some ungodly amount of money in the mans face. He swept is coat behind him and turned around finally making it to the doors of the hospital. He bursted inside and went heading to John's sector. He swiftly went around and went to John's office. Not there. Patient rooms. Not there. Check-up rooms. Not there.

He must have gone out, however there was no evidence of him being anywhere.

Perhaps he could find Sarah if she was working, although the women hated him he knew that she wouldn't lie to him either.

Finding her office, he walks inside, she's looking at her computer and typing vigorously. Probably writing up a patients medical history.

"Where's John."

Sarah looks up,

"Straight to point I see. I haven't seen him, haven't signed him in."

Without a word, Sherlock headed out of the office and down the hospital until he made it out of St. Bart's. So John hadn't been there, he could have assumed he simply hadn't signed in, but John isn't that type of person. He wouldn't have lied to Sherlock either about going to the hospital. Perhaps he got taken by his brother? No. He would have responded to Sherlock's text. Or perhaps not- maybe he didn't notice. He quickly pulls out his phone and texts Mycroft,

_Where's John. Give him back. SH_

**SEND**

While stands in the middle of the pavement he looks up at a CCTV camera that was now suddenly turned to him and glares. He then gets a text back.

_I don't have John, Sherlock. MH _

"You liar." He says to the camera.

There's a buzz in his hands.

_CCTV does not have audio, Sherlock. I am not lying. Perhaps I can help you find him. MH_

Sherlock glares at the CCTV again, puts up his middle finger, shoves it in the air, and leaves

_Childish. MH_

* * *

Mycroft looks as his brother walks away and follows him with the camera. He's obviously off to find John without him. Mycroft however was going to find him anyway.

He hadn't checked up on John's surveillance because he found no need to. After his brother had faked his death John's surveillance had massively gone down, when Sherlock had come back he never bothered to raise it again.

He calls Anthea,

"Hello Anthea, please send me Doctor Watson's surveillance file from the last 24 hours. Thank you." he hangs up without letting her get a word in. He's not as rude as his brother, who wouldn't say thank you, but he'd rather avoid the most words possible. His emails bleeps and he opens it up. He plays it from the afternoon on fast forward. There is little video, because all he has is CCTV, so it didn't take long until he saw John get in a cab heading to St. Bart's. He puts it on normal speed and watches as John gets out and heads to the hospital. Mycroft immediately notices the white van (how original) parked by the side and every other detail led him to not be surprised when he sees a man come out and plunge a needle into John Watson's neck. He sees as John passes out and is dragged into the van.

Mycroft takes a deep sigh. He supposes he'll have to deal with this now.

He calls Anthea again,

"Hello Anthea, please contact Detective Inspector Lestrade and tell him to file a report on the kidnapping of John Watson. I'll send you the video now."

_"Yes sir, would you like me to contact your brother for you?"_

"No, I believe I'll simply wait until the Detective Inspector contacts him."

_"Alright, sir."_

"Thank you."

* * *

Sherlock was currently yelling at a clerk at a market.

"He comes in here all the time how could you have not seen him! You idiot."

Sherlock had already texted John twice and was now becoming more and more frustrated. As well as worried, though he wouldn't allow himself to acknowledge it.

"Sir I- can you please leave the store. I'm going to call security."

Sherlock growled loudly and was about to speak again when his phone rang. He takes it viciously in his hand -**DI LESTRADE**- he reads, and then answers it as dramatically and aggressively as you can answer a phone,

"**_What_**?"

_"Woah Sherlock calm down-"_

"I don't have time for this, unless you have a case I will hang up right now."

_"Sherlock you need to come to the station John's been kidnapped."_

"Oh."

"_Yeah, your brother contacted me with someth-"_

Sherlock ended the call and immediately headed outside. He had to get the Yard immediately. Obviously they had acquired some video, he wouldn't ask his brother for it, and he couldn't get it himself. Luckily, he saw a cab heading away and called it with urgency.

He was worried.


	3. Pax Vobiscum

John's phone started to ring on the metal table.

"Oh my _God_. _Finally_. For a second there, I thought your Sherlock was an idiot, really and truly. They really should have tried tracking your phone faster. You think I should pick it up? It's-" David picked up the phone and glanced at the caller ID "DI Lestrade. Ah yes. He is, afterall, a very important man. What do you think?"

John was tired, his wrists were aching from being tied back so long and he simply wanted to leave. He stared at David and rolled his eyes. David laughed at him and played with the phone in his hands. It continued to ring. To John's surprise however, David picked it up. _Why_? Was the immediate thought that lightly burrowed itself into John's head.

"Hello? No I don't want money." He winked at John, "Yes, no I won't tell you where he is. Though I do know you'll find out soon." He laughed, "No, no, I won't hang up. How long does it take to trace a call? A few minutes? I don't really know. Though I'm sure those crime shows are wrong. The show 24 says 60 seconds. Other ones say 5 or 10. Though I think the phone company would know. It must be different in this new digital age of IPhones and-" he paused, "He's not hurt, for Gods sake. Why would I hurt him? No reason. He's a good guy. Anyways, gotta go, sure you've got my location by now." He hung up the phone. Then he lolled his head down, came to his knees and looked straight through John Watson's blue eyes.

"Do you think that was enough Dr. Watson?"

The silence was deafening. When John spoke it was small, and echoed, reverberated, prodded and peered into his and David's ears.

"Why? Why would you let them have my location? Is it a game? Are you going to move me? Leave clues? What's your end game? Give me something to go on." The words came out fast and nearly desperately. He didn't want this again- he didn't want another Moriarty. David smiled and it was oddly kind.

"I'm not moving you. Yes, it's a game. I don't know what the end is- I don't believe anybody really does. My job isn't this, I'm not meant to taunt people or terrorize through words I'm meant to torture. My boss knows that, however they ignored it anyway. I'm sorry, John Watson." He took another syringe off the table, "I've never heard the voice of the boss before, no one has. I can't offer you any information. I simply don't know" he stabbed the syringe into a small glass container and sucked up the clear fluid. It was significantly less then before, maybe a fourth or fifth of what it had been. He walked up to the doctor and sighed. Bringing his face closer and closer to him, he had his mouth by John's ear. John tensed- and held himself strong. When David whispered, "Pax vobiscum" Then John fell into a sleep.

* * *

Sherlock had been very silent. Through everything, as they had watched the video he made no brilliant deductions, he'd said nothing.

"Call John Watson. Trace his phone." It was as simple as that. There was no spark to his words or any sort of excitement, it slightly confused the Yard for him to act so unbelievably apathetic. They at least expected him to get angry, perhaps throw a tantrum or even get excited he tended to do that. This was however very different.

When they had called the man Sherlock asked if he could speak, it took some persuading but Sherlock had eventually through his cold logic convince them "_I__'m clever, you know that. I can tell you who he is, where he is, where he's from. Even if the call doesn't last long enough."_

Then the call had begun.

_Hello?_

"What are your motives. Do you require money, or-"

_No I don't want money._

"Will you tell us where John Watson is?"

_Yes, no I won't tell you where he is. Though I do know you'll find out soon._

"If you believe we'll find out, do you have any intention of hanging up?"

_No, no, I won't hang up. How long does it take to trace a call? A few minutes? I don't really know. Though I'm sure those crime shows are wrong. The show 24 says 60 seconds. Other ones say 5 or 10. Though I think the phone company would know. It must be different in this new digital age of IPhones and-_

"**_Shut. Up._**" The anger startled many of the officers, it startle Lestrade, "Is he hurt. Have you done anything to injure him?"

_He's not hurt, for Gods sake. Why would I hurt him? No reason. He's a good guy. Anyways, gotta go, sure you've got my location by now._

The call ended abruptly.

"We've got the location, services are heading there now."

It was all very simple really. Sherlock had gotten in a police vehicle with Lestrade, Donovan, and a few other officers. He was still rather silent, unless spoke too, even if spoke to he only spoke when he found it necessary.

They arrived and everything seemed to be too simple, everything was easy. They came into the empty vacant lot and found John Watson in the middle, his head was lolling up and he squinted at the dim shadows that came towards him. One looked like a superhero, coat, hair, suit.

"Sh-" the word wouldn't come out properly "Sher- Sherlo-" he failed to mumble it correctly and closed his eyes to try and make things clearer. It didn't work as much, rather it gave him a large headache. He could feel his hands suddenly released and his body slumped forward. The sounds around him were awfully dimmed and the voices sounded like they were covered by a thick sheet.

"John? Are you alright? Are you okay? John?" he could make out a deep voice. He cleared his throat and tried to speak. No words came out so he simply nodded and let them drag him away.

Sherlock sat in the end of the paramedic bus and waited for John to come out of his reverie. He had come to the conclusion before the paramedics had told him, John had been drugged by some type of animal sedative and it would be clear of his system in a few minutes.

"Hey, Sherlock. Nice seeing you here." John's voice was humorous. In order to convince Sherlock he was okay. Sherlock was rather quiet for a moment before he spoke,

"I've already come to the conclusion the man is from Bristol, 50 to 56 years old, is a sort of minion. I've estimated he has been a torturer under the influence of a gang for about 20 to 23 years and kidnapped you under the influence of another that isn't directly connected to his gang. I haven't looked into it yet, but I believe that I have seen the man before- probably deleted it or stored it away somewhere. The information I've gathered from where you are only tells me that this is simply as it seems, and abandoned lot that was chosen at complete random. I also know he dragged you here from a white van, you haven't been hurt and only drugged. Also you should probably put some cream on your wrists when we arrive back at 221B Baker Street. What did you gather from the man?"

John smiled at Sherlock,

"Brilliant once again. Well he didn't give me very much information to go on, other then the way he looks which I suppose you already know, I asked his name and he told me to call him David." John's voice got quiet, as though he wished he didn't have to speak, "Sherlock I'm not entirely sure whether to believe him but he kept talking about this 'boss' of his. He claims that someone has started, or already has rebuilt Moriarty's web. He says that it's a game- some game that this pseudo-Moriarty is going to play with us. And before he drugged me, when I was here, he looked almost- regretful. Regretful that he had to do something, and told me he couldn't give me information about his boss because nobody had heard their voice. Then he whispered something to me, in Latin, I think before I passed out. Pax vobiscum."

"_And also with you._" he said lightly. John was confused,

"What?" he said.

"Pax vobiscum. It means Peace Be With You, commonly said by those of the Roman Catholic Church in Latin. The proper response is 'And also with you.'" he smiled, it was excited, but in his eyes John could see fear rising up, "John."

"Yes?"

"We have to talk to my brother."

* * *

When John had given them his account of events. And enough was gathered about the case, they were able to leave and finally head back to Baker Street. When John got there Mrs. Hudson looked at his wrists, and before he could even ask she offered to get him some cream. He nodded thank you and headed upstairs with Sherlock. When they had arrived Mycroft was already there, his hand was tight around his umbrella and he stood by the fireplace.

"You already know why I called you." Sherlock said as he sat down. "We need the information on the man who kidnapped John, more accurately we need information on that man's superior."

Mycroft turned around and revealed the file he had been holding, he handed it to Sherlock and sat down in John's chair. John didn't bother asking if anybody wanted tea, and instead opted to pull out a chair on the desk and sit cross legged towards them.

Sherlock opened the file and quickly flipped through it, "So he's part of unnamed an organized crime ring and has been working with them for 22 years. Yes, I've already made that conclusion. The ring was previously under the influence of Moriarty. Recently evidence of many gangs reassembling has been very apparent. Especially this one...all evidence suggests that somebody else is reorganizing. I suppose there is no information on whom?"

Mycroft tapped his umbrella lightly on the ground.

"No, this ones much less of a show-off as Moriarty. It has been very slow Sherlock, and very quiet the rebuilding of the web- but it's happening. They're coming under one leader again, many people believe that it is Moriarty who somehow faked his death, however it has been confirmed that it is not-"

"Confirmed?" John Watson piped in.

"Yes Dr. Watson, confirmed. I looked at the body of Moriarty myself."

"Is there any further information on the new 'boss'?" Sherlock questioned.

"We know the attitude of the leader, prone to keep quiet. Hasn't done anything risky the whole time the rebuilding was happening, we can confirm that they have the same materials as Moriarty once had. Same contacts. Same influences. It's as if immediately as Moriarty died, another waited three years and appeared once again. We didn't even notice much of anything until five weeks ago. We have been monitoring the situation ever since. We know that everybody calls the leader 'Moriarty'. We thought we had his voice, but it was confirmed later that this was only an actor. Hired to speak for him. We have no evidence of what this new Moriarty looks like, talks like, or where they are. After John being recently kidnapped, it has completely gone against what this new boss seems to stand for which is non-suspicion. I suppose they noticed that we noticed, and went after you- so it's now optimal to have you involved Sherlock. Welcome to the case." Mycroft twirled his umbrella and looked up as John Watson spoke.

"Why haven't you told us this before?" he prodded suspiciously, "Isn't it our right to know about these things? We got involved, your brother faked his death to end this organization and after 5 five weeks, it had to take me getting kidnapped for you to offer the case?"

Sherlock was silent.

"I'm deeply sorry John, but this was something out of my control. I couldn't get you involved until something personally happened, there was no point to before. We could have dealt with it on our own, but now we know this new Moriarty wants something to do with Sherlock." Mycroft's voice was level, and his apology obviously wasn't true. John decided to ignore it, and instead stood up.

"Bye Mycroft, I don't think we need you anymore."

Mycroft seemed slightly surprised but got up, and nodded to John,

"Absolutely, Dr. Watson." He walked out of the room, headed down the stairs and to his large black car. His umbrella swirling along the way.

"You're angry." John heard Sherlock say from his chair.

"Yes, of course I'm angry." The army-doctor was exasperated, "Mycroft hid from us this monumental thing. There's a new Moriarty on the loose! And he's ready to start playing games again, it's a new person Sherlock. We don't know about him, he's unpredictable, we have no useful information on this person at all. If we'd have heard about this earlier we could have been working on this for over a month!"

Sherlock was unusually apathetic about what his brother had done. Instead opting to take the purely logical unemotional route.

"We need to view this differently John. I can't let emotions get in the way of what this person may be doing. Last time I let it show and Moriarty knew all my weaknesses. It's as if he could look into my soul and tell me what was wrong with me. We don't know about this new contender, and we can't do anything until they pull another move. All we have to do is wait. If they want to play psuedo-Moriarty- I'll let them because that means I can solve the puzzle. If I can solve the puzzle, then I can stop more deaths from happening."

John was startled by the amount of logic that went into what Sherlock had said. John sat down in his chair, and felt the warmth that was already there from Mycroft.

"Alright. We'll wait."

It didn't take long before they heard Sherlock's mobile ringing.

Sherlock looked at the caller ID -**UNKNOWN**- he silently gestured towards John to listen. Answered and put the phone on speaker phone.

"Hello?"

"_Hello Sherlock._" a distorted voice was on the other line, though it was obviously an Irish accent. "_Let's finally get to playing the game._"


	4. Blond Curls

_Trigger Warning- Death, Infant Death, Child Death_

* * *

_"What are we supposed to call you?" _Sherlock's voice was steady, and cold.

"_You can just call me Moriarty, dear. It is after all, my name._" the slight twinge and accent made the voice sound exactly like Moriarty. However, Sherlock's ears had steadily deduced it was not, he had memorized that voice, he would even know if it was distorted.

"Moriarty is dead, it can't be your name." Sherlock scoffed. John sat silently and listened.

"_Well I suppose if you would like to believe that, then make up a name for me. Call me smoke, darling, rising, dear, six, honey, dead. Any of them will do._"

"Well aren't you going to make me solve the puzzle? Smoke rising, six dead? Is that what I need to stop?" Sherlock then decided to try to appeal to what he believed this person wanted. He wants to be Moriarty, so be it. Let him continue to have his fantasy, it will make it more predictable. "You are Moriarty after all." He spoke in a smooth, nearly seductive voice. John looked shocked at him- but Sherlock waved him off.

There was small pause before it sounded again, _"Ah, lovely." _The voice sounded very pleased,_ "Just because I have the name doesn't mean I am him."_

The call ended.

"What was that? That- that _thing_ you just did?" John asked.

"It was me appealing to the new Moriarty. This person obviously wants to delve into the fantasy that they are Moriarty. I would think they are delusional. Everyone knows Moriarty's _fascination_ with me. So I appealed to the fascination, Moriarty is a flirt after all."

"Well it obviously didn't work. They said they weren't Moriarty." John was oddly uncomfortable with the way Sherlock handled it. Something about the sexy quality of his voice while speaking to Moriarty- no not Moriarty, this fake Moriarty. Was very unsettling. "They didn't seem to have any reaction."

"They obviously did John the 'Oh, lovely' that was pleasing. They just said the second statement to cover up their delusions. It's obvious, and actually quite boring. This person isn't nearly as clever as they lead us on to believe." Sherlock groaned and got up to gather his coat and scarf. He picked up his phone and started to glance over it. "This is actually rather boring John, I was expecting a challenge."

"What do you mean?" John was very confused. They had just been called by this stranger, it was starting to get late and it looked like Sherlock was ready to head out the door. "Sherlock- it's nearly seven...Where are you going?"

Sherlock quickly turned his phone to John where there were glowing coordinates.

"This phone has a tracer John. Call Lestrade and tell him what's happened while we go to the address."

They yet again called a cab, it was getting later and John was very overwhelmed. He just got kidnapped for God's sake and they were already heading to another crime scene.

The address was rather far away, up in Birmingham at the countryside, it took them a little bit under two hours and by the time they arrived they could see cop cars already there, and the sun was setting. There was a large house in the middle of a green and yellow field. It was old and worn, but obviously had a warm quality to it. It was the type of house that would hold a family for years comfortably. Police tape was however adoring the area and police officers were moving steadily in and out of the house.

Lestrade stood talking to an officer and he looked distraught, though it was Lestrade's sort of distraught. The one that isn't overly emotional but obviously upset. The one that caused him to not sleep at night.

The farmland suddenly became more and more eerie as John looked further. It went out far and into the trees. The faces of the men and women moving out of the old house created a hushed quality. It made warmth seem haunted. When they got out of the taxi is was quieter then John expected- very subtly humming. John paid the obscene amount of money and the cab driver and drove away slowly, his head sort of stuck out of the window as he glanced at the house and then finally he started to speed up and went away.

John followed Sherlock as he walked up to Lestrade,

"I'm assuming you haven't found the new killer. Instead, there have been multiple murders. Six?"

Lestrade passed his hand tiredly over his face and looked up at Sherlock, "Yeah- sorry for not calling, the reception here is terrible. It's located right between power lines," he gestured up at the black strings surround them,"...And yes, there have been six deaths. I'd rather not know, how you know."

"Fire?"

"No, we believe it's gas. Carbon monoxide poisoning." Lestrade looked very tired, "Sherlock- there were two children in there- and one infant. There was no puzzle Sherlock, not like you told me on the phone, there was no one to save when we arrived they were all simply dead. You need to stop this-" The inspector looked down, "Just go."

Sherlock nodded, and John felt sick. His stomach turned as he entered the crime scene, two people, who looked asleep on the couch, but weren't. A mother he assumed, with blonde hair leaning over a father with dark hair. A television was in front of them, as if they were simply watching it before they fell into sleep and died.

John didn't want to journey up stairs, but Sherlock went anyway and John had to follow. Sherlock went left first into a small room with green paint, where a young boy, probably five or six years old was left under dinosaur covers, he had probably just been sent to bed, his cheeks squished against the pillow with no more color.

Then they went into the next room, a bit larger, with comics and clothes strewn around the floor and tons of posters plastered on the wall. Another boy about fifteen or sixteen years old, was sitting up, his head slumped over with a computer that fell down off his lap, and now laid lightly at an angle on the bed. John could visualize it, the boy was probably playing on his computer when he suddenly felt tired. His eyes lightly closing and him passing out as the computer fell off his lap. The teenage slowly being poisoned by gas.

And John nearly couldn't bear going into the next room, the parents bedroom, where a white crib was at the side, little painted flowers adorned the handles and a mobile was over it.

A young baby girl about five months old with small blond curls lay with a pink bear next to her, like her older brothers she had no more life or glow. John left the room. Headed downstairs and out the door before Sherlock could say a word.

This was sick. Unbearably disgusting.

He was outside and he paced around the house, the other officers, not Donovan or Anderson who were collecting evidence outside looked at him with any emotion. Everyone understood, and let him pace and curl his hands multiple times without any bother.

He had expected this to be like Moriarty, where they at least had a chance to solve something before everyone died. He couldn't help to think back to Afghanistan where he would see injured, sick, dead or dying children everyday-

_Would you like to see some more?_

The words that he heard years ago, asking if he would mind seeing more death. Maybe one with a mystery, one that had meaning, or thought to it. Something that didn't involve young children. Not this though. They knew what happened here, it was simple, one person had done this simply to mess with them. They inadvertently caused the death of these people. It was his and Sherlock's fault for this and he would accept it. These people deserve more then this.

He took a deep breath and wondered out of the power lines so he could call a taxi, by the time it got here Sherlock would most definitely be done. The phone rang, and he politely asked for the cab. He has the cab service on speed dial now, although he almost always simply uses it for London- it didn't take too much convincing to get them to drive all the way to Birmingham, they used the cab service all the time...They got a bit of leeway for 'helping the public'.

John, ventured back near the house and gathered himself. He straightened his back and put on his military stance- he could deal with it. Making it up the the porch he stepped up and saw Sherlock peering at the two parents on the couch.

"Ah- hello John, figured you'd be back soon. It's fairly obvious how they died, the carbon monoxide poisoning is obvious it left red mark on their sides. I've deduced that the children are nothing of interest, both fairly normal, their older son had a marijuana habit- but it doesn't affect the case. The infant however is much more interesting, there are obvious signs of malnutrition."

John was slightly taken aback, "Malnutrition? Was it done before the murders? Torture?" John was horrified now. It was horrible already, he didn't need more reassurance of the fact.

Sherlock shook his head, "No." Sherlock gave him a fleeting look that John had learned to identify as _Stupid, _"It was purely environmental. The mother was showing signs of anxiety and depression. Look closer at her ring, uncleaned. Her hair- not well taken care off. Her nails, bitten to stubs. This could simply be a case of a failing marriage, but as we can see hear she was obviously happy with her husband. Her children were also well taken care of. The malnutrition of the child was simply caused because the nutrients the infant were receiving from the mother's breast milk was insufficient."

John sighed, "So what does all this mean?"

Sherlock stood up and slapped his hands together in front of him.

"I have no idea- I can't wait to find out though, I assume you've called a cab."

"Yes."

"Well then, it seems they have arrived."

They headed out of the house and looked at the black cab with large letters _Dial-A-Cab._

Lestrade headed up to them before they made it, "What did you find Sherlock? Do you know anything more about the killer?"

Sherlock brushed him off, "I haven't connected all the information yet expect to see something soon."

They headed into the cab and Sherlock looked out the window and glanced at John. John was obviously upset, if the way his shifting eyebrows hadn't implied and his hand ran through his hair as he looked out the window. He was disappointed in Sherlock for not showing sympathy to the family, Sherlock noticed, but what could John expect from him? For him to kneel down crying and start grieving for the dead? That wouldn't help them, all he could do was solve the case. Find the murderer.

The trees rushed by.

The house had been overall normal, they were a happy family. All the children were very obviously theirs...Then why had they been targeted? Why couldn't have Sherlock solved the case? Why wasn't he given a chance to solve the case?

There were no lives to save, no one was strapped to a bomb hoping for the godsend of a puzzle to be solved. Why had the family been targeted? He assumed that it had to do something with the mother...But it was perfectly normal.

A women has a child and gets postpartum depression, she was getting help for it. She had a supportive family, her children were happy. There was nothing interesting, and that's what made it so much more intriguing. There must have been something he was missing. A puzzle piece. He let the case rest in the back of his mind, there was nothing he could gather yet he'd have to focus his thoughts on other problems.

The new Moriarty. He had obviously been wrong about him, he vastly underestimated his new foe.

"John."

"Yes Sherlock?"

"How far do those power-lines go out?"

John turned to Sherlock, "I don't know, pretty far out. Towards the trees...The whole house is just surrounded by them no wonder Lestrade had interference trying to call you."

"Then how did he call?" Sherlock smiled.

"What do you mean? Lestrade didn't call-"

"No, the killer, how did he call? My phone led us to that exact location, the power lines were surrounding it however- there would have been too much interference for pseudo-Moriarty to call from there. How would they have called us there? How would I have gotten the location?" Sherlock was now musing to himself. This person was much more interesting then he thought, much more clever. He smirked.

John seemed interested, "I don't know."

"Neither do I John."

* * *

_This chapter was actually really difficult to write. Like you have no idea...Sorry for all these chapters being so short. I plan on having the next ones being somewhere around 3500 words rather then 2000. Tell me what you think! Thank you._

_(P.S. I've been doing a little research on my first chapter. Since I'm an ignorant American, I used the Imperial system and not Metric- I did do further research though, and traditionally apparently people do use the Imperial system to describe height in suspect descriptions in England...If you would like me to change the chapter name and edit it the rest to say "One Meter Fifty Seven" then I will happily oblige)_


	5. Prozac

The next day was interesting to say the least.

"This is interesting John..." Sherlock mused as John came down the next morning rubbing his eyes from a long sleep. He was a surprised because usually after a case like this he doesn't sleep as well. It was already eight o' clock a fairly late time for John to be waking up. The detective was pacing around quickly, back and forth from the table to his chair from the table to his chair from the table- "I can't seem to find out why he targeted this family but I will find out." Sherlock spoke very quickly. He then took a pause at the table and fervently tapped on an empty mug laying there. John got the message as he headed over and swiped it off the table. He shook his head as he went into the kitchen.

"COFFEE!" He could hear Sherlock yell from the resting room (which was very ironic considering they do anything but resting in there).

John was about to start making his morning tea, and coffee for Sherlock when he then took in the very distinctive smell of coffee beans. He glanced around and noticed the multiple instant coffee packets laying around the counter. Well- what's left of the open part of counter...all the rest was slowly being taken over by Sherlock's mad experiments. The doctor brought his hand up to his face and massaged his eyes, "Sherlock! How many cups of coffee have you had?" This has happened before. Ever since John had insisted on Sherlock getting his sleep every night without a case it seems as if Sherlock had developed a new found love for coffee. As Sherlock's body got used to more sleep he assumed that Sherlock had been getting tired easily. It was the same with food, he noticed Sherlock actually getting hungry recently. Ever since John yet again had insisted on Sherlock eating at least one meal a day.

Sherlock hadn't answered him.

"Sherlock!"

John heard an irritated sound from the main room, "I don't know about 3 cups..." there was a slight pause, then quieter, "Maybe seven."

There was an audible groan from the kitchen, "I'm not making you anymore coffee!" John then heard an exasperated huff and the distinctive sound of Sherlock collapsing on the sofa. John smiled. He could picture Sherlock dramatically flipping his blue robe over him. Of course he would sulk about not getting more caffeine.

John felt oddly fake being so joyful this morning. There had been a whole family killed mercilessly and here he was making his morning tea and smiling at Sherlock's eccentricities. He plugged in the little Russell Hobbs electric kettle and waited for the water to boil. He paced around the kitchen a bit and brought out some biscuits Mrs. Hudson had made for them. He placed a few on a plate and went to the couch where Sherlock had his blue robe covering him, and he set it down on the couch arm.

"Eat a little bit Sherlock. Look it's sugar, sugar get's you hyped up too." John waits until Sherlock sat up and grabbed the plate, but not before John grabbed Sherlock's wrist and pushed his robe up his arm. There were 5 nicotine patches lining up Sherlock's arm- John assumed it was on his other arm too, "SHERLOCK. You're going to get _nicotine poisoning_." Sherlock tried to pull his arm away but John pulled off all the patches from Sherlock's arm, "A fatal dosage for humans is about 30 to 60mg. How much nic are in those patches?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and began to speak so quickly it was hard to understand. "Oh calm down John, these patches release somewhere around 21mg over 24 hours, it's not enough to kill me if they are releasing simultaneously and separately, not all at once. These patches release about .875mg each hour of nicotine and I'm wearing 10 patches so that means every hour I'm getting about 8.75mg released into my system. I've only had them on for 3 hours so it has released about 26.25mg into my system. Considering my extremely high tolerance for nicotine I could leave them on for another 3 hours and it wouldn't affect me."

"I don't care Sherlock. You're taking all these patches off and no more caffeine alright?"

"There's nothing you can do that would make me listen to you."

John put on his doctor face, "This is for your health."

"Who cares about my health."

John rolled his eyes and gave Sherlock his own _idiot_ look, "For one- I do. Also, you're growing spores in the kitchen right? What were to happen if somebody just _so happened_ to _accidentally_ spill cleaner on it?"

"You wouldn't."

"I would."

Sherlock flipped off the couch and ripped the nicotine patches of his arm vigorously. "Fine! Take away the one thing that could help me solve this case."

John ignored him and headed back into the kitchen to finish making his tea. He didn't want breakfast today, rather a morning tea...maybe some brunch and then a small dinner. He'll look forward to getting himself some Thai later today, he always did love Pad Thai noodles and he needed some comfort food. He came out and found Sherlock pacing again, "So what have you found out, hm? You obviously haven't solved it yet...Do you know how he got that address on your phone?"

"All evidence points to the fact that somebody planted the address on my phone beforehand. Although, I suspect that I would have noticed it had been tampered with I've confirmed that the line that pseudo-Moriarty called from was completely secure. That means no information could be exchanged from me to the source nor from the source to me leaving the last possibility. I still can't figure out what's so interesting from the family. It's very obvious what's happened of course, in every room behind the walls there was a planted timer to release carbon monoxide. This killed them- it was painless though which is rather quite interesting because-" John was giving him a look. "It is_ interesting because_ they could have chosen to kill this family brutally but-"

John interrupted, "Well couldn't they have chosen this way because it's quiet? No screaming, no fighting, no suspicion."

"No John. You've seen where they live, it's in the middle of no where. It could have been just as easy considering all the resources that Moriarty has-

"Fake. Fake Moriarty."

"They are still Moriarty's resources John, even if they aren't being acquired by the real Moriarty anymore." He went back to his deductions, "The family could have been killed much easier with professionally hired killers... Instead the murderer went through the arduous route of finding compressed carbon monoxide? It takes so much time and effort. There was a degree of care that went into finding a way to kill this family painlessly. With mercy... for a broad term." Sherlock stood up, "I need to interview family friends, people they knew. We need to figure out what made this family special." Sherlock headed through the kitchen and into his room slamming the door loudly. Obviously getting ready.

* * *

It was nearing noon.

John had take a shower Sherlock had taken a shower.

Sherlock's designer shampoo scent mixed with John's cheap drugstore shampoo created an interesting aroma that had the cab driver scrunching his nose in the front seat every so often. This left Sherlock very distracted as he looked out the window and tried to not pay attention to the people that attracted his attention. However everything attracted his attention. The women with the red umbrella had just gotten a divorce, how had he known that form the sway in her step?- not even he had noticed. The old man was have heart problems, probably the sign of an impending heart attack, the clutching at his chest had made it obvious. The cab driver was the guardian of a teenage child. As would show from him constantly glancing at his phone- Waiting for texts from the teenager. Previous guardian, out of picture. Was he a God father? Perhaps. Previously military, discharged. He also has diabetes, the clubbing of his fingers made it obvious and thank God he didn't need to inform the man, as shown by the stack of candy bars left in the glove compartment.

Everything was so loud to Sherlock. Everything was so _obvious_. This case however was not obvious- the case was actually _interesting_. He steepled his fingers and closed his eyes trying to ignore all the information that was burrowing itself into his mind...It didn't help too much- the cab would run out of gas soon. The cabbie will refill it when they get to Birmingham, if they have a more then twenty minute delay he'll have to stop earlier- Just. STOP. Stop thinking so much about irrelevant information.

THINK.

ABSTRACT

**WIFE-** Depressed. Anxiety.

Filed under- Cause: Post Partum. Husband. Children. Family. Stress.

Previous Artist. -_EDIT, _**DELETE**-.

**HUSBAND-** Supportive. Anger Issues.

Filed under- Cause: Wife.

Therapist. -_EDIT, _**POST UNDER WIFE**-

**WIFE ADDED- _Therapist._**

...

Sherlock didn't open his eyes, "We should talk to her therapist first John."

"She had a therapist?" John's voice was blissfully ignorant.

"Yes. Obviously. Couples therapy, as well as individual. It will reveal quite a lot, I'm sure, about the quality of their relationship."

The cab ride continued to be distracting, they had a delay and the driver had to fill up again.

"This is ridiculous." John had said, "Aren't cabbies supposed to fill up regularly? This is absolutely ridiculous."

Sherlock had simply replied, "_Hm_."

The cab driver ate a candy bar while glancing in the back seat and grinned with chocolate in his teeth as if to say, '_Sorry'_

Sherlock had called Lestrade and asked him to quickly acquire the parent's therapist's office address. Lestrade had called back just soon enough so they could inform the driver of the new address.

They finally arrived to a therapist's office. The small building was very modern, every corner was angled perfectly and the chairs were modern and comfortable. The colors were a comfortable mixture of warm greens and blues as well as the touch of white and black- Sherlock acknowledged that they hired the wrong designer for the place. Asking a modern interior designer to give a comforting feeling was contradictory. It was very cold, probably meant to stimulate alertness in their patients and therapists. As they walked up to the desk Sherlock peered over a young women who was typing vigorously on her computer.

She looked up and smiled politely, "Yes, how may I help you?"

"My name is Sherlock Holmes and this is my partner John Watson." He gestured over to John who had nodded kindly. " We are consultants for the Scotland Yard and are investigating the murder of six people in their home. We're here to see Dr. Rosalind Lenton the therapist of two of our victims."

The women looked put off by the prospect of somebody dying.

"I- I'm not sure where she is right now. Maybe her office? Could you give me the names of clients she had? I need to take them off of my registry I suppose."

Sherlock blanked. He hadn't taken any time to figure out their names- He looked towards John who helpfully interfered.

"Mr. and Mrs. Haden" John smiled at her.

The young women at the desk frowned, "Oh, the Hadens'? Poor dears, they were very kind...I can't believe they've been _murdered_." She said the word like it tasted bad on her tongue, "They came in here every Monday afternoon."

Sherlock had already gotten bored, the women obviously wouldn't give them anymore useful information. He turned towards the hall that was to the left of the main desk and walked down the lines of offices until he found the one with dark black lettering

-**DOCTOR ROSALIND LENTON**-

"Time to talk to Ms. Lenton." Sherlock said to John.

"Doctor."

"What?"

"Dr. Lenton."

"Hm."

They headed inside where an older women, probably late fourties or early fifties looked up at them from a laptop on her desk. Her hair was pinned up neatly with a yellow brooch in a well kept bun, she had light brown hair that curled over her ears and framed her heart face. Sherlock felt oddly reminded of Mrs. Hudson. She smiled kindly and closed her laptop, "Hello. How may I help you? Have you made an appointment for couples counseling?"

Sherlock quickly got to the point, "No. We're here to investigate the murder of Mr. and Mrs. Haden, we're consultants for Scotland Yard. You were their therapist and we would like to ask you a few questions about the mental state of both of them and the quality of their relationship." Sherlock was very abrupt, and John gave an apologetic look to Dr. Lenton like he does for all the people Sherlock and him interview. Dr. Lenton gave John a knowing look and gestured for them to walk farther in.

"Please sit down, I'll answer all the questions you want."

John sat down, but Sherlock continued to stand up, he titled his head and scrunched his brow. "No questions about patient confidentiality? Interesting."

"I know the law when it comes to patient confidentiality. In the light of murder investigations there is no more confidentiality."

John sat forward and gestured for Sherlock to sit down, Sherlock rolled his eyes and sat grudgingly in the seat. John spoke, "Are you not surprised that they've been murdered?"

Dr. Lenton's lips creased at the edges and she sighed, "Of course I'm surprised. I simply know how to deal with emotions, they were very kind people. It's very sad- but I see no point in grieving. I'll answer all your questions to help however I can." She folded her hands over her desk, sat forward and crossed her legs. "What would you like to ask me?"

Sherlock's voice was abrupt, "Tell us the quality of their relationship. Problems. Fights."

"Yes of course." She brought her finger up to her lips in thought, "Well, they weren't fighting more often per-say recently. As much as they simply brought up more problems. They weren't connecting like they used to. They weren't communicating well either. Neither of them shared any of their major problems with each other-"

"Major problems?"

"Yes. They knew that Jane had depression and anxiety problems." Sherlock logged the name JANE HADEN in his mind, "However, they didn't address her recent thoughts of suicide." John raised his head in surprise and was about to speak before Dr. Lenton interrupted him, "I know the policy when it comes suicidal thoughts, but I found no real evidence that she would have done it."

"Did Mrs. Haden ever talk about anyone wanting to hurt her? Or did Mr. Haden talk about it all?" Sherlock prodded.

Dr. Lenton shook her head, "No no, not at all. Everyone seemed to like them, I can't think of anybody that would want to harm them."

"Was Mrs. Haden taking any medications?" Sherlock questioned.

"I prescribed Prozac to her a week ago. But took her off it just three days into the treatment."

"Why?" John asked.

"That's why I believe she started having suicidal thoughts. Immediately as I prescribed them I saw the connection. So I took her off them."

Sherlock stood up and John followed, "Thank you Dr. Lenton I believe that's all the information we'll be needing."

John fished a little business card out of his pocket, he made them a while ago and he found them fairly useful ~_Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson Consulting Detectives_~ then there was a phone number, "Please call us if you have anything you'd like to share."

Dr. Lenton nodded but then spoke up before Sherlock left the room, "Wait- Dr. Watson and Mr. Holmes...I would like to give you my card." she handed the card to John, "You should have couple's counseling."

John shook his head, "We're not a coup-"

"Yes, I know. It doesn't mean you can't come to therapy. You have a very interesting dynamic. I can observe it in between you." She smiled, "You balance each other very well, and that doesn't need to be romantic Dr. Watson." She sat back down while John and Sherlock still stood silently, "Though I do see slight problems that are between you. There's-" she waved her hand slightly, "_Tension_. Please contact me if you can." She then opened her computer and waved them out politely.

Sherlock took a slight pause observing her but then quickly fled the room with John in tow.

"Have you found anything out Sherlock?" John asked while he lightly tucked the counselor's card into his pocket. He didn't plan on taking up her offer.

Sherlock smiled and they made it to a main road where Sherlock, with the preciseness of an automaton, hailed a taxi, "I believe I know what happened." He got inside with John and spoke to the cabbie, "Scotland Yard."

John looked towards Sherlock with interest, "What do you think happened?"

Sherlock smirked to himself and started rapidly typing on his phone, "Jane Haden hired who she thought to be Moriarty to kill herself and her family."

"What why?"

"The _medication_ John. I remember looking in her cabinets and finding an empty bottle, it was a weeks worth of medication. She continued taking it even after Dr. Lenton had told her to stop taking it. It cause suicidal and _homicidal_ thoughts. Not uncommon, there are many studies done about antidepressants and violent thoughts. That's why it was so painless for them, she still loved her children, even if she wanted them dead. She specifically chose a method that she considered peaceful." Sherlock nearly laughed to himself, "Oh, this is brilliant."

John made an angry face at Sherlock but chose to ignore him, "Well how did she get any of Moriarty's information? How would she have known about them? Pseudo- Moriarty called acting as if he targeted them."

"That's just it John. He didn't. _She_ called _him_." Sherlock turned his phone to John, it was an associate list. Jane Haden was on it.

"What's this?"

"I assumed it didn't matter, I even deleted the information at first. Mrs. Haden was a previous artist under the influence of museum curator from the museum where the fake Vermeer was. She must have gotten Moriarty's information through her connection with the curator, and assumed she'd never need it. Obviously settling down with a family in Birmingham." He put the phone down realizing it was still up near Watson's face, "After receiving the homicidal thoughts, she called. We can get her phone records from Lestrade at Scotland Yard. Get any calls that she made recently before their death, we can try and trace this to Pseudo-Moriarty."

John smiled, "Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant."

Sherlock couldn't hide his smile.

They got to Scotland Yard at a respectable time, and had made it up to where Lestrade's office was. After explaining all the information Sherlock had deduced, Lestrade had immediately requested the phone records from Mrs. Haden's cellphone.

"Are you sure she wouldn't have called from a pay phone or something Sherlock?" Lestrade had asked.

Sherlock had waved him off and explained that she wouldn't have called from anywhere else but her own phone, as she saw no point in keeping it secret. Considering the fact that she would have died anyway.

Lestrade was rather surprised that the women did this to her children, while getting the information they needed he kept constantly making comments about it. _That's rather sick. Why would anyone want to hurt their own children? Why would anyone want to hurt any children at all? In fact, why does anyone do what they do?_

John would occasionally pipe in and agree.

They finally got the phone records:

_HOWARD NORTON, SAMANTHA'S HAIR AND NAILS, DAVID HADEN, DOCTOR ROSALIND LENTON, JACOB HADEN_

John piped up, "Well the only suspicious one is Howard Norton. Who's he?"

Lestrade shook his head at John, "No that's a family friend. We've already talked to him he's got an alibi."

"David, and Jacob Haden?"

"Husband and son."

Sherlock interrupted, "You're both such idiots! We've obviously found out what the suspicious line she called is!"

John glared, "Well why don't you kindly share it with the class Sherlock?" he said sarcastically while gesturing around him.

"It's Samantha's Hair and Nails. The women is depressed, and thinking about killing herself and her family, why would she want to get herself pampered? There was also no evidence of any new makeovers she had recently got done. I'm sure if you checked her transaction history there would be no evidence of her there either."

Lestrade spoke, "Well, I suppose all that we can do now is call the line and trace it."

"I suppose." Sherlock spoke back.

John was sure he wouldn't be getting his Pad Thai.

* * *

_And there it is! You see, I made it longer then last time. I'm totally prepared to try and do it every chapter. Hope you enjoyed, I've gotten only one review and I think one follow so far- so I mean I'm not sure if anyone is reading this story. I'm sorta considering taking it down. But I guess it doesn't really matter._

_Whatever happens, happens!_

_Thanks, ~Moriarty-Mastermind_


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